Golden walk

It's getting colder, darker, murkier outside.  The bonfires have all burned out, leaving behind cold, grey ash. The earth sends chills up through my feet. I don't want to linger. I'm remembering a walk home from the allotment before Halloween, when we collected twigs to make a broom. The heavy sun threw giant sized shadows across damp grass. The chill in the air drove us home sooner than I wanted to go.